Poems (1828) | Page 6

with all the science fraught,?By elder bards or later critics taught,?Shall count the cords of his mellifluous shell,?Span the vast fabric of his fame, and tell?By what strange arts he bade the structure rise--?On what deep site the strong foundation lies??This, why should scholiasts labour to reveal??We all can answer it, we all can feel,?Ten thousand sympathies, attesting, start--?For SHAKSPEARE'S Temple, is the human heart!
Lord of a throne which mortal ne'er shall share--?Despot adored! he rales and revels there.?Who but has found, where'er his track hath been,?Through life's oft shifting, multifarious scene,?Still at his side the genial Bard attend,?His loved companion, counsellor, and friend!
The Thespian Sisters nurtured in the schools?Of Greece and Rome, and long coerced by rules,?Scarce moved the inmates of their native hearth?With tiny pathos and with trivial mirth,?Till She, great muse of daring enterprise,?Delighted ENGLAND! saw her SHAKSPEARE rise!
Then, first aroused in that appointed hour,?The Tragic Muse confess'd th' inspiring power;?Sudden before the startled earth she stood,?A giant spectre, weeping tears and blood;?Guilt shrunk appall'd, Despair embraced his shroud,?And Terror shriek'd, and Pity sobb'd aloud;--?Then, first Thalia with dilated ken?And quicken'd footstep pierced the walks of men;?Then Folly blush'd, Vice fled the general hiss,?Delight met Reason with a loving kiss;?At Satire's glance Pride smooth'd his low'ring crest,?The Graces weaved the dance.--And last and best?Came Momus down in Falstaff's form to earth.?To make the world one universe of mirth!
Such Sympathies the glorious Bard endear!?Thus fair he walks in Man's diurnal sphere.?But when, upborne on bright Invention's wings.?He dares the realms of uncreated things,?Forms more divine, more dreadful, start to view,?Than ever Hades or Olympus knew.?Round the dark cauldron, terrible and fell,?The midnight Witches breathe the songs of hell;?Delighted Ariel wings his fiery way?To whirl the storm, the wheeling Orbs to stay;?Then bathes in honey-dews, and sleeps in flowers;?Meanwhile, young Oberon, girt with shadowy powers,?Pursues o'er Ocean's verge the pale cold Moon,?Or hymns her, riding in her highest noon.
Thus graced, thus glorified, shall SHAKSPEARE crave?The Sculptor's skill, the pageant of the grave??HE needs it not--but Gratitude demands?This votive offering at his Country's hands.?Haply, e'er now, from blissful bowers on high,?From some Parnassus of the empyreal sky,?Pleased, o'er this dome the gentle Spirit bends,?Accepts the gift, and hails us as his friends--?Yet smiles, perchance, to think when envious Time?O'er Bust and Urn shall bid his ivies climb,?When Palaces and Pyramids shall fall--?HIS PAGE SHALL TRIUMPH--still surviving all--?'Till Earth itself, "like breath upon the wind,"?Shall melt away, "nor leave a rack behind!"
IMPROMPTU, TO ORIANA.
ON ATTENDING WITH HER, AS SPONSORS, AT A CHRISTENING
Lady! who didst--with angel-look and smile,?And the sweet lustre of those dear, dark eyes,?Gracefully bend before the font of Christ,?In humble adoration, faith, and prayer!?Oh!--as the infant pledge of friends beloved?Received from thy pure lips its future name,?Sweetly unconscious look'd the baby-boy!?How beautifully helpless--and how mild!?--Methought, a seraph spread her shelt'ring wings?Over the solemn scene; and as the sun,?In its full splendour, on the altar came,?God's blessing seem'd to sanctify the deed.
TO MY SPANIEL FANNY.
Fanny! were all the world like thee,?How cheerly then this life would glide,?Dear emblem of Fidelity!?Long may'st thou grace thy master's side.
Long cheer his hours of solitude,?With watchful eye each wish to learn,?And anxious speechless gratitude?Hail with delight each short sojourn.
When sick at heart, thy welcome home?A weary load of grief dispels,?Gladdens with hope the hours to come,?And yet a mournful lesson tells!
To find thee ever faithful, kind,?My guard by night, my friend by day,?While those in friendship more refined?Have with my fortunes flown away.
Why bounteous nature hast thou given?To this poor Brute--a boon so kind?As constancy--bless'd gift of Heaven!?And MAN--to waver like the wind?
WIDOWED LOVE.[1]
Tell me, chaste spirit! in yon orb of light,?Which seems to wearied souls an ark of rest,?So calm, so peaceful, so divinely bright--?Solace of broken hearts, the mansion of the bless'd!
Tell me, oh! tell me--shall I meet again?The long lost object of my only love!?--This hope but mine, death were release from pain;?Angel of mercy! haste, and waft my soul above!
[Footnote 1: Mr. T. Millar has composed sweet music to these lines, and has been peculiarly fortunate in composing and singing some of the exquisite Melodies of T.H. Bayly, Esq. of Bath.]
WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM
OF THE LADY OF DR. GEORGE BIRKBECK, M.D.
President of the London Mechanic's Institution, and of the Chemical and Meteorological Societies. Founder and Patron of the?Glasgow Mechanic's Institute, &c. &c. &c.
Lady unknown! a pilgrim from the shrine?Of Poesy's fair temple, brings a wreath?Which fame and gratitude alike entwine,?Around a name that charms the monster Death,?And bids him pause!--Amidst despairing life?BIRKBECK's the harbinger of hope and health;?When sordid affluence was with man at strife,?He boldly stripp'd the veil, and show'd the wealth?To aged ignorance, and ardent youth,?Of cultured minds--the freedom of the soul!?The sun of science, and the light of truth,?The bliss of reason--mind without control.
Accept this tribute. Lady!